


The Frenchman and the Broken Girl

by sxnflower



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Historical Death, google translate french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxnflower/pseuds/sxnflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Philip Hamilton has recently passed, sending his closest sister into shock. Angelica Hamilton was stunned, dropping every feeling in exchange for mourn. However, her lover, Georges Washington de Lafayette, devoted his life to assuring that Angie was safe from herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Frenchman and the Broken Girl

"Mon cher," Georges attached his steady hands to the trembling girl's frigid shoulders, leaning forward and burying himself deep in the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry." He cooed, voice soft and slow and everything else that embodied comfort.

His breaths were slow and paced as he nurtured the broken girl, cuddling her and providing anything that he could. He had hoped for some sort of reaction. Angelica, however, did not bat an eye, did not speak a single soft word. A single tear rolled down the side of her naturally red cheeks, her lips pursed in a stone frown, her brows arched in the expression of complete and utter torment. Something inside of the Hamilton had snapped the instant it came to her attention that the brother she had held so dear to her heart - Philip Hamilton, the boy Angelica was inseparable from - had slipped through the world's cruel, uncaring hands.

Weeks passed and despite Alexander Hamilton's utmost recommendations that the girl be left alone with only her harmful thoughts, Georges swore to her side. Nobody was more devoted to poor little Angie than the Frenchman himself, though the girl was unable to vocalize her gratitude. Instead, Angelica spent days, months on end obsessively playing the same keys in the same harmonies, silently sobbing in wake of her deceased brother. Her love sat by her side, merely listening to the beauteous sounds of the piano over and over. Georges Washington de Lafayette sat, patient and content, infatuated with ever-growing love for the unstable girl; finding himself pray in light of Angelica, wishing that he could do anything at all to help.

One night, the usually comforting, soft Georges was in ruin, bawling and screaming in retching anguish. With eyes dry from a relentless stream of tears, he wept. Angie played, music loud and mixing with the volume of the pained boy's sobs, creating a thunderous roar within the room as the noise crashed together. There was an overall symphony of pain filling the room, a fusion of discord that almost distracted Georges from making a realization. With a sniffle, the world quieted, the sound of Angelica Hamilton's raspy, hushed hums filling the void of sound. For a moment, everything had healed. Georges felt a new tinge of hope as he choked on the ball of emotion in his throat. Dropping to the girl's side, Georges joined in on the now familiar tune.

Two months passed and all had been the same. Georges felt that he had been blessed as Elizabeth somehow convinced her husband to allow the Frenchman to live in their home. Though he had his own room in the Hamilton household, the boy could always be spotted with Angelica.

Believing it would be of best interest, the girl's father insisted that she be placed into a hospital. Georges pleaded - more like debated - with Alexander, forcing him into a position where he, angrily, let Angelica stay in their abode. The morning after the Frenchman's heated argument, his emerald eyes wet with tears opened wide to his surprise. A small note sat on the grand piano, writing and words hardly recognizable; shakily written in calligraphic French. It was apparent that the girl still had a state of well-being and consciousness, having written in French with the knowledge that her partner struggled to read her first language. Making this connection, her lover's heart pounded briskly, hands shaking as he pulled the note closer to her face. 

"Georges, mon bien-aimé, je ne peux pas bien articuler mon sentiment d'amour envers vous de vous aime de tout mon coeur, mais je pense quil est sûr de dire que je sais que vous m'aimer davantage. Je vous remercie.  
\-- Toujours votre, Ang."

The Lafayette turned, the look of concern and complete love plastered on his face. He watched his love's stunted breaths as she lay in the bed. Angelica was sick, having refused to eat much anything for the past three months. Georges worried and panicked, pondering on the 'real meaning' of the note. What if this was her dying letter? What if Angelica knew that her curtain call was ever near and this was her final song?

"She really _is_ beautiful, isn't she?" A weak voice abruptly cut through the silence.

Georges jumped in fright at the sudden sound, quickly snapping in its direction. A ghastly sight stood near Angie, a longing expression on its face.

"...Philly?"

The figure nodded solemnly, reaching out for his younger sibling's embrace. "Georges, promise me you'll take care of Ang'." He pleaded, voice cracking slightly.

The Frenchman blinked. "Of course!" The boy replied, eyes wet with tears. He ran a hand through his short, curly hair in a habitual response to his nerves.

"I trust that you will." Philip turned, facing the startled, lanky boy. "If you don't," He paused, a seemingly mocking somber expression growing on his face. "I _will_ come back and haunt your ass."

Georges was completely stunned. Not a moment later, the spirit dissipated. The boy took a second to regain composure and to make sense of what had just happened. His breathing steadied as he let himself once more get lost in the image of Angelica Hamilton.

November 23, 1802. It was the anniversary of Philip Hamilton's untimely demise. A day in which all family and friends wept once more. Nobody would ever be completely healed after the loss, though it was speculated that two family members were lost to the grave that day. Georges believed otherwise, putting everything on hold for his love.

"Ma chérie," The boy whispered, leaning in close to the peacefully asleep Angelica. Georges peppered her face in a thousand kisses, a weak smile on his face. "Good morning, Princess."

Angie's eyelids fluttered, the Frenchman eventually coming into the girl's blurry, glasses-less face. She sleepily wrapped herself around the tall boy laying next to her, shakily breathing into him. "Morning." Angelica exhaled weakly, her smile saying that she was filled with happiness, but eyes drooping in remorse. "Comment est mon prince?" She muttered into the boy's chest with an audible grin.

Georges took his lover into a warm embrace, long arms wrapped around the tiny Hamilton's body. He held her close, as he had promised to do so a million times before. "I'm good if you are, Angie." Georges replied. It was the same response - the same conversation - every morning for almost six months. Angelica had only spoken to her partner, her sweet, quiet voice breaking through for him. Though it was always the same ritual, the Lafayette appreciated every second of it. He loves Angelica's soft tone. Her sweet, small voice that stuttered and sang. The voice that had once laughed and would laugh again if Georges tried hard enough.

Nuzzling against Georges, Angelica purred in a response, planting a small, inexperienced kiss on her dearest love's neck.

Georges rested his head on top of hers, planting occasional kisses on her scalp and providing the comfort of a giant plush bear. In mere moment, Angie was fast asleep once more in the arms of her love, hoping that Philip pay visit to her in her dreams.

EPILOGUE:  
Georges Washignton de Lafayette had vowed once to leave America. This was a boy that believed all of which he wrought was chaos. In the boy's eyes, he did not deserve to be loved - that he wasn't loved. Georges risked the hearts of many in doing this, but he saw it as a chance to let anybody who chose to love him escape and better themselves without him. In spite of those beliefs, Angelica Hamilton argued that he stay. She pronounced her - and many others' - love for him, but he would not change his mind. Upon uttering the words, "Fuck off." to Angelica, he made a realization. He was the one thing that she was willing to speak out against. The usual quiet and timid Angie was replaced with a brash voice of reason that would dare not 'shut up.' The girl who hardly spoke was now spouting curse words in a strong attempt to snap the one she loved out of his depressed trance. Although it did not work immediately, as Georges stormed away, ignoring the Hamilton, it started a burning fire inside. The day Angelica Hamilton screamed at him made Georges understand more than he could ask for. He felt a sense of worth. He felt loved for the very first time. His heart had collapsed, and with a war cry of knowledge, Angelica rebuilt it. So, when Angelica herself had fallen to pieces, Georges knew it was his job to do what his girlfriend had done for him once before.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote all of this in the span of one night and vowed to not change anything about it (except for major grammar or spelling mistakes) so yeah! also this is my first hamilton fic!


End file.
